Chemistry Catastrophe
by P H I L A N T H R O P Y x
Summary: He was nothing like Captain Kirkland. Nothing like the man he used to be. Antonio had been fully aware of this for some time, in fact sometimes would even contemplate how easy it would be to just kill him. First Fan Fic. Please Review.


**[** _A_uthors notes; Hello Everyone! So this is my first Fan Fiction so don't stab me when it sucks! ;o; I was listening to 'I Don't Give a Fuck' by _Breath Carolina_, and I fell in love with the song. I don't know why but it reminded me of Antonio and Arthur. As much as I hate this pairing, I couldn't help but write it. w; **]**

**DISCLAIMER.**

I _**do not**_ own _Axis Powers Hetalia_, all character's belong to there talented creator _Hidekaz Himaruya. _Thanks.

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"Oi, Mr. Fernandez you should head home! You're a _little_ drunk, Amigo." Dark Green hues snapped toward the voice of the bartender that stood in front of him, cleaning glasses on the table. "It's late anyway; don't you have a _kid_ to take care of?"

The other let out an annoyed huff as he took one last shot from the freshly poured glass of Tequila; Nothing with it, just straight. That's how he liked things. Pain all at once, rather then the stinging sensations of having it softened by a juice or ice. The hangover was twice as bad when he did that anyway.

"Mhm," Getting up from the bar stool the Spaniard glanced to the clock.

_Twelve Thirty Seven._ Digging in his back pocket he tossed some Euros onto the table. The bar tender eyed him curiously as he pulled the door open, "Tell the kid hi for me!" He called after tossing a fresh tomato at the other. "I'll see you later, Antonio."

The emerald eyed male held a hand in the air, catching it, despite his drunken state. With a wave of the same hand he left the small bar and began his walk home. It was dark outside, the humid heating causing Antonio to let out an unsatisfied sigh. He could barely even see where he was going anymore, the alcohol finally starting to affect him. He hadn't been that drunk in years, since…

The door to his home was messily and loudly opened as he stumbled inside. The lights were turned off and the only thing Antonio could hear was the Television in the other room blaring. Most likely, from Lovino forgetting to turn it off when he went to bed.

However Lovino wasn't in bed yet.

Loud foot steps echoed through the upstairs before the green eyed Italian appeared at the top of the first flight of stairs. He panted slightly before regaining composure and glaring down at the male before him, his arms crossed. "And where the hell have _you_ been? You missed dinner!" Antonio rolled his eyes and kicked his shoes off, making his way toward the stair case. Only to be greeted by a hand to his face.

"Wait just a damn minute, you bastard!" The Italian hissed before grimacing at the others breath. "Are you _Drunk_?" Antonio laughed almost to himself as he pushed past the other removing his dress shirt in a rather un civil way. Tossing it behind him to Lovino who scoffed and grabbed it rather irritably. "Hey I'm _talking_ to you Damn it!"

"Yeah and I'm not listening, _Buenas Noches_, Lovino." With that, he rounded one corner of the hallway tossing the tomato he still held in his hand back to the shocked Italian.

* * *

_Crack._

The only sound that filled the room was liquid spilling into a glass and on the Spaniard. After the bottle emptied he snarled and threw it against the door the glass shattering into pieces. It took him a minute to register what he just done, a frown resting on his features now, he slowly got up. Kneeling over he finally began to pick up the small sharp pieces.

Was this really what he had been reduced too?

Hell if he knew, the ever so happy Spanish Country tried his best, _he really did_. But sometimes the pain and guilt were to much to handle. And he would resort to drinking his problems away, the way he used too.

Frankly, it was helping.

"Fuck," Glancing down Antonio looked at his hand, and the beautiful liquid pouring from his wound. A smirk now rested on his lips, the long gash ran down from his inner hand to his wrist, and the blood wasn't stopping.

He hesitated at first.

_N-No…I shouldn't…not again._

Though the temptation was killing him, and the sweet aroma pushed his temptation to the limits. Slowly he brought his palm to his lips, the red liquid staining his sun kissed skin. His lips parted slowly and his tongue lapped up the metallic tasting substance. At first he grimaced at the taste however it soon changed and he softly suckled the wound on his palm.

Antonio's eyes fluttered shut and he savored the taste. The taste he hasn't even dared touch since the 1500s. It sure as hell was better then alcohol though a lot harder to come by and much more of a sin then anything he had down. However the last time he tasted blood, it was that of the English.

**English.**

Antonio bit down on his palm slightly at the thought, _English. _

After all it was all that _**bastards fault**_.

**Arthur Kirkland.**

That name still left a bad taste in his mouth. However, being forced to see the man _every_ week killed him even more. Ever second of his presence, his voice, it made Antonio want to jump up and just slit his throat. That British piece of shit had gotten _lazy, slow,_ and not to mention _old. _He was nothing like _Captain Kirkland._ Nothing like that man he used to be. Antonio had been fully aware of this for some time, in fact he sometimes would even contemplate how easy it would be to just kill him.

_Kill Arthur Kirkland._

Antonio's eyes slowly opened and he released the now purple skin. The normally happy green hues were clouded. Clouded with something he hadn't acted on in years. Licking his lips he got to his feet, and opened the door of his bedroom.

The house was quiet now, Lovino had fell asleep on the couch and the Television was muted. The Spaniard noted everything one last time before sliding his coat on and making his way out the door. The only thing was, Antonio carried one extra item on his person.

The same item the British bastard used to take away his freedom.

A single gun, and a bullet with Arthur Kirkland's name on it.

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**[** _A_uthors notes; Ohgod. That was extremely out of character for Spain! I'm so sorry ;n; Well I promise there will be some answers in the next chapter if you think I should continue…Well please give me rate and review! ;o; I also need a beta reader so yeah Please be honest with opinions too. ;n; **]**


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